Ansolve

the words

stifled by the mandrake

of profane synapses

in the backstage of bad smiles

verge on utterance

only when the bile is kind.

the birds

always awake me

with the promise of congregation

in the preproductive mind

of all my intentions

seamlessly collaged.

it serves

to masochize existence

for thus there may be good

to solely exteriorize

only the blur of such notion

barricades the might.

so curse

solitary confinement

and the fear of reprisal

by the chanting lullabies

that forage in the meadows

of my convoluted mind.

and birth

to an eminence of breath

which I may partake in

without incarceration

perhaps invite back

the naivete of impulsion.